Ready, Set, Go
by X-Cubed
Summary: A Naruto drabble series all coinciding with the words Ready, Set, Go. Warning: language, mature themes, character death.
1. Minato: Ready

Author's Note: This is our second stab at a drabble series, since our first was so well recieved. We will try to get a set of three up at least every week. Enjoy. Oh, and we don't own Naruto, in case you didn't know.

X, F, and O

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Minato paced the floors of the Hokage office, an anxious expression on his face. The town had just faced another attack by the Nine Tails. The causalities, both civilian and shinobi, were growing every day. The names of the dead lay wrapped in a scroll, one of the many scrolls littering his desk. Even just looking in that direction made him queasy.

The pressure was getting to him. He hadn't slept for days, his hair was standing on end from the countless pulling it had gone through, and his head felt like it was about to split apart from the constant headaches. He'd always considered himself a good, brave man. He cared about his people; he fought for his people; he'd lay down his life for his people. But now they were facing an un-fightable enemy, and he could do nothing. His people were dying in droves and all he could do was watch.

He hurried back to his desk, shoving scrolls off the desk in his search for a single aged scroll, tied with a green ribbon. Sliding the ribbon off the scroll, he opened it up, re-reading it yet again. His mouth formed the words on the page over and over, his brain registering and refusing the horrible concept the scroll brought to life.

A head poked in the doorway, informing him that his lover had gone into labor. He dismissed the medic, stating that he'd be right there. He bowed his head with a sigh, tears welling up in his eyes and dripping down off his nose. There was no other way. It was truly the ultimate sacrifice, the life of his own gone, and that of his unborn child's ruined. He placed the scroll on his desk and wiped the tears away. He knew what had to be done. He would protect his own. All of his own. He was **ready**.


	2. Naruto: Set

Naruto was born both a hero and a burden. His life was decided by people older but no wiser than he. His path was **set** out before him far before he could even walk. He was treated like dirt by the villagers without ever knowing why. It was because he was a constant reminder to the village of a time of death and horror. They couldn't look at him and see him; they could only see the Nine Tails container. He thought later on in his life that he couldn't hold it against them. They had lived their lives in constant fear while the Fox had run rampant. Dozens of people had died everyday, slaughtered by the very thing he held inside him. Having him around, it made the villagers relive that fear every day, always wondering when the Kyuubi would take over Naruto and rampage Konoha again.

When he was younger though, it was a different story. He hadn't known anything back then besides the fact that he was all alone and scared. He had no family, no friends. Everybody tried to steer clear of him, and when they couldn't they stared at him with hate and fear in their eyes, pointing a silent finger of accusation at him that told him that nobody wanted him around. He grew up thinking that everybody hated him. But why wouldn't they, when he had hated himself?


	3. Sasuke: Go

Sasuke stared into his brother's eyes one last time before squeezing his own shut. He sobbed, his breath coming out in short, harsh sobs. He tried to block it out, block out the memories of what had he seen all those years ago. All that blood…who knew there was that much blood in someone? The blood had been on his hands, his knees, his legs. It had stayed there for the rest of his life. It never faded; he always felt it, right under his skin, burning him. It always reminded him that he hadn't been strong enough, good enough, smart enough to save them. He'd never be enough to save them, but someday he'd take Itachi to see them, someday he'd send the whole damned Uchiha Clan to Tatarus together. Not to the Elysian Fields, no, there were no heroes among the wicked, both dead and living.

The images swam back to the front of his mind. He was there all over again, that frightened little boy kneeling in the middle of the dead. He saw his mother, felt her cold saggy flesh under his hands, smelt the nauseating decaying smell of that room. Itachi had been surprisingly gentle with her. She'd been lain out in proper burial fashion and her wound had been deep and precise, a quick kill.

His father and the rest of the clan hadn't been so lucky. Itachi had been brutal with them. They were stabbed multiple times, the blows shallow, ragged, passionate. He'd let them bleed out slowly so they could be conscious during the torture he inflicted. He'd cut out all their eyes, his last patriarchal act to ensure the secrets of the clan stayed secret. His father's tongue had been cut out, leaving a slimy trail of drying blood and wet saliva from his open mouth to the dismembered muscle beside him.

Sasuke pushed the images out of his mind, letting everything **go** in one violent attack. An attack that never reached its target, Itachi. More proof that he wasn't good enough.


End file.
